Aesthetics
by Lady of the Shire
Summary: You turn around to see what is left behind after everything you hold to be true is obliterated. There is nothing. An empty void. But a frail light in the distance draws you near. From there you will know the Truth: how sordid and breathtaking this world can be.


Aesthetics

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Summary: You turn around to see what is left behind after everything you hold to be true is obliterated. There is nothing. An empty void. But a frail light in the distance draws you near. From there you will know the Truth: how sordid and breathtaking this world can be.

Category: Tragedy/Spiritual

Rating: T

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Disclaimer: I don't own the Bartimaeus Trilogy or any related works.

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A/N: I am currently in the process of revising the plot to another story I have published on this site, The Leopard's Apprentice, when I am not working on my doctoral research. So that translates to about 0.01% of time. In the meantime, I drafted up this. Something that I have been musing in the back of my mind since I finished the reading the Bartimaeus Trilogy a couple years ago. This takes place in the aftermath of Ptolemy's Gate.

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She wished that she had the courage to walk amongst the rubble. Amongst the destruction that was a parting gift to her. After the explosion, how her world shattered and resonated into her bones. She fled. Anywhere but here, she thought. Not because of the authorities. She couldn't bear to come to the realization that she had to endure loss once more. But where to go? Where could she retreat from the eyes and ears of everyone? Disappear in plain sight. The library. The days that passed under the tutelage of the many volumes of knowledge leaves her with a mournful pang of nostalgia. The warm musty fragrance of parchment permeates her nostrils with every deep breath she takes, reverberating the hollow cage that rattles about in her chest. But it does not calm her. Her nerves are frayed. What should she do now? What could she do now? Many of the socialites—the magicians—have lost their lives. If she sat here for the remainder of her days, would things change? Would the status quo prevail? After all, magicians aren't born. They are manufactured from unfortunate souls like hers. The abandoned. The orphaned. There will always be those who wish to be blessed with a better life. Even though they have no control over their fate.

A breeze slipped in.

Probably from a slightly ajar window or a draft in the old building. Kitty drew her knees to her chest, arms wrapped around her so tightly that she was certain that her shoulder blades will protest next morning. Piles of old manuscripts lay waste around her, reflecting her decrepit mental state. She glared at the bright green leather perched on top of one of the misshapen piles. Jakob. Setting landmines within seemingly harmless bounds of parchment. Patience is a virtue waiting for the unlucky wielder to fall prey to a "miscalculation" during a summoning. She could have been a victim. After all, the girl played with fire with the hopes of starting a blaze. A revolution. Or at least some sort of change. Achieving an unspoken taboo amongst the commoners: summoning a demon. Kitty flinched. Unexpectedly, a small pile of papers next to her had been usurped of their summit, gliding down graciously to her feet. She glanced at them.

That is when the memories resurfaced.

All of those hours of constant study and diligent practice. The ancient texts. The fragile parchment that she delicately clasped in between her fingers. So many foreign tongues that spoke to her across the centuries. She had read memories. At least, those that had been luckily preserved. What had been her purpose? She asks herself while cautiously summoning the closest note to her face. She was a fool. Fate couldn't be changed. Mr. Pennyfeather. Fred. Stanley. Entering that crypt was a predestined death sentence. Jakob. Forever branded. Bartimaeus….

Forever imprisoned.

As if she could have done anything to change that. As if she could have _saved_ him. _Liberate_ him from his fate. She couldn't even help herself! Much less society. The Resistance. Like he said, humans were cyclic creatures. Restraint followed by Rebellion. Rebellion followed by Restraint.

The rulers. Kings. Dictators. _Magicians_.

The ruled. Subjects. Plebeians. _Commoners._

Why?

Why even try to change Fate?

An exhausted pair of brown eyes halted on the next line. One name leaped out from her scribbled prose.

 _Ptolemaeus_

To her surprise she smiled. _"I had been right, haven't I?"_ she mused. It had all been for love. The moment he brandished his heart, she understood. No one would recount someone so accurately, down to the very last mole that garnished his ankle. That was love.

No.

It was something more than that.

It was regret.

It was survivor's guilt. Bartimaeus didn't come across as one who would define love in the conventional fashion. For obvious reasons. A violent, cynical being like him who has endured millennia of brutality _could not_ comprehend such an emotion. She had glimpsed that side of him, only once. The summoning. Kitty slipped The Forbidden Name and nearly lost her life for it. Or so she felt. Would he have really killed her? The young brunette was a brave soul, enduring not one but two deadly encounters with a demonic presence. But, even she had her limits. She had hated that whimpering voice that had escaped her own mouth, pleading for sanctuary from the enraged beast. No. He was more like a god in that moment. A spiteful god that destroyed anything in his wake. Vicious. Kitty doubted that his relationship to his "beloved" master was as pure as she had first perceived. No, he can't comprehend love. Any attempt at affection must have quickly transformed into something more sinister. Possession. He couldn't bear the thought of having this one fleeting happiness taken away by anyone or quell his passion for revenge against those that enslaved him.

So he destroyed it himself.

"No!" she hissed. Her fingers intertwined her mousy locks as she hastily clamped her hands over her ears. That foreign voice whispered falsehoods with a venomous tongue. Kitty would not believe it. She had talked to him on numerous occasions, before and after that incident. He wasn't the twisted monster her subconscious was trying to convince her otherwise. He was different from the others, not an archetype of his species. Just like….

Kitty buried her head into the nest of knees. What a terrible way to bid farewell to someone, going to one's death without as much as a pause. Stupid magician. All of them. An idiotic breed. But he was the biggest idiot of them all.

The bravest idiot.

Both of them actually. They were so alike. Regardless of their form, they shared so many similar qualities. Why hadn't she noticed it before? Why is it now that they were…gone…that everything comes to her with such clarity? Besides, Bartimaeus would have definitely killed her if she had even alluded to such. What good things could she hold in reverence? This was their wake after all. Only one attendee, if the ghosts of memories imprisoned in musky parchment weren't counted. "They were both stubborn and arrogant," her voiced creaked, engulfed by the tense silence. She cleared her throat and brandished the paper in her hand:

"Maybe you are on to something, Kathleen Jones," she began. "Maybe the demons have more in common with us than we are willing to admit." The Other Place. Think of it as a purgatory for mortal sinners. The form of the monster they take reflects their crime. Then, they continue the rest of their existence as slaves to the beings they brought suffering upon. Though, that part might not be complete true. These unfortunate souls could also be comprised of the fallen: those that lost their will to remain human for one reason or another.

Her words had never resonated so sharply in her mind:

 _I believe Bartimaeus was human once. Not just by will of form but authentically. He possessed a level of humanity far beyond any genuine counterpart could comprehend. But then he lost something he loved more than anything in this world. And he punished himself for it. Gave up his flesh to the darkness and became such._

Kitty stopped. Had this been the reason why she was so hell-bent on learning more about the djinn? How delusional. Where would she have contrived such a ridiculous theory from? She threw the paper aside. "But, they couldn't accept their path. Their fate. Nathanael was not born a magician. He was a human being. He could not abandon his humanity, no matter how much he tried." Her voice was now at a clear timbre, echoing though the empty hall. "Bartimaeus was born a demon, meandering through each existence like a wisp of smoke of the putrid frankincense I burned to birth his summoning. But not unscathed. His scars were a brandished like a Scarlett Letter." But what birthed the demon? Would he experience an afterlife? Or would he be reborn in a new body? A hand slipped onto the back of the young woman's neck. She craned her head backwards, revealing stiffened musculature. Her head then hung forward and a stream of silver filtered her vision. The sacrifice. The price of the knowledge. The Truth. When she had entered a world only explored by one other being in the entirety of human history. "No, I am not wrong," she whimpered, slipping the strands through her thumb and forefinger. His gentle voice. Such a genuine, tender smile. A kiss of contentment….

"His dream may come true one day. A dream so ludicrous that he has hidden it deep within himself. His desire to return to his former state. Though, he will never admit it. With each sacrifice, each act of kindness, it slowly returns. I believe that one day he will be emancipated," she whispered.

"One day he will ascend the aesthetics that bind him to this world."

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Thank you for reading.


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